


(I will) function, operate

by vonuberwald (macabreromansu)



Series: Strange Obsession [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Hate Sex, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreromansu/pseuds/vonuberwald
Summary: It's a natural disaster and you're the cause and the victim.
Relationships: Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light
Series: Strange Obsession [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1456288
Kudos: 14





	(I will) function, operate

**Author's Note:**

> Less stream of consciousness this time, but still me spewing so many words of Zenos/WoL hatesex in as little time as I could manage so I could get back to work and forget about these losers for a while longer.
> 
> This officially deviates from canon btw, this is definitely the mad prince and not Elidibus in a Zenos costume.
> 
> Also, yadayada, title from Depeche Mode lyrics.

_ It's the last time, it's the last time _ , a mantra running through you, desperately trying to convince yourself as you walk to your meeting place this time around, a ruin, a bombed-out hut. Still smoking, and a gorge rises in your throat. It's the last time.

Even when the Light scorched you from within, you didn't feel this raw, this exposed. The place is deserted but every soot-blackened derelict has eyes, gaping windows accusing you. How could you come here, how could you do this again.

It wasn't too long ago, not in this world, the last time you fucked. Or the time before that. Or the time where he took you instead, whispering the usual savage nonsense in your ear and you came the hardest. You swore it was the last time then, too.

You've learned a lot about instinct. Enough to make you want to peel your skin off to try and shed the guilt. Enough to know that it won't help. And more than sufficient to realise you can't stop anymore than you could stop a wildfire. It's a natural disaster and you're the cause and the victim.

He walks up behind you, silent as usual, but you know he's there. As usual. He doesn't look any different. The red tinge to his eyes when the fury and the lust takes him isn't there yet, but it's easier to look at than the clear, mocking, blue.

Sparring first, you both came to the joint, unspoken agreement. Sparring that would turn into down and dirty fucking right where you both ended up, heedless of debris, sharp metal and burnt wood scarring, cutting. It wouldn't be right if it wasn't violent, bloody. It needed to be. 

Two rounds this time, it's been a while after all, a lot of viciousness pent up, a lot of things not to be said, but to be translated into biting, scratching, bloody furrows as pictographs of hate/lust on your back and his, streaking your thighs, his arms. There aren't any words between you, it feels like a finality and it sparks stupid hope in you. Idiot.

You're done, you dress, you leave. You return, you dodge questions, you smile. 

You're a fucking idiot.

You have the whispered location of your next meeting echoing in your ear. You're a fucking coward.


End file.
